


A Curious Turn of Events

by grimcognito



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: MTMTE
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff and Crack, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, PTSD - Grimlock, but not half as sad as it sounds, some violence, tags will be added as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/pseuds/grimcognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulcrum and Grimlock stumble into a relationship together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimers Apply- I own nothing and claim nothing from the Transformers franchise, IDW or Hasbro. This is a work of fiction made purely for fun and that makes no profit.

Fulcrum skidded around a heap of scrap, Misfire right on his heels, and the both of them just barely escaping the massive burst of flame that swallowed up the space behind them.

In through the bay doors of a rusted hull and right out into the open on the other side, they both did a little dance trying to figure out which way to run. A shared look of pure panic at the furious roar close behind them decided it, they darted in different directions.

Grimlock didn’t bother with the door they used, he just trampled the whole thing down. Misfire’s far more noticeable paintjob caught his attention, much to Fulcrum’s mixed relief and worry. At least, until Misfire finally used some common sense and, with a quick jump, changed into his alt mode and took to the skies.

Grimlock’s head swung in his direction, those bright red optics locked on him now. Slag. Fragging scrap, slag and Unicron’s waste disposal. 

Fulcrum did the only thing he could. Screamed. Screamed and ran. Which, really, wasn’t the best plan in terms of not being caught, but his processor was a little busy running through every possible, painful way he was about to die. Most of them he ended up as a smelted lump on the ground.

The ground shook under Grimlock’s steps as he gained on Fulcrum, and it was like a blessing from Primus himself that a whole half of a warship was partly buried behind an outcropping of rocks. 

Practically feeling the hot vents from Grimlock’s open jaws, and praying frantically to anything that might listen that flames wouldn’t be breathed on him, he dove inside through a small hole from some kind of canon blast. It was just big enough for him to fit, and the walls were sturdy enough to hold Grimlock off for a bit.

He scrambled to his pedes and looked around, optics adjusting to the darkness of the room. Then jumped as Grimlock slammed against the other side of the wall, roaring furiously. The wall began to grow warmer and then glow as Grimlock worked on burning through it. Not wanting to be anywhere nearby when he got through, Fulcrum slipped through what was left of a smashed door and took off up the slope of a hall. 

He ducked into another room, the only one he could find with a working door that would let him in and actually shut again after. Soon as it was closed, though, he realized there was no other exit. He’d locked himself in a small supply closet. Pit to Primus, he’d just made himself the easiest prey possible, he trapped himself! 

There was no time to find another room, he could feel the vibrations of Grimlock’s heavy treads, so he pressed himself against the far wall and hoped Grimlock would be too wrapped up in his rage to do a systematic check of every room. 

How were they supposed to have known the dead captain of the ship they’d been crawling through was a fan of Overlord? The last thing they expected was to hear recordings of that awful voice, probably from his early days of taking Garrus 9. He wasn’t sure because Grimlock's sudden roaring had drowned it out, then he’d torn apart the room and destroyed the console with the recordings. They all ran after that, once it was clear Grimlock wasn’t calming down. And that he recognized nothing past their Decepticon badges.

The others had been quicker at taking cover, Fulcrum had made the mistake of trying to talk to Grimlock, and Misfire had made the mistake of saving him from being bitten in half, leaving them both in Grimlock’s sights.

Now, here he was, listening to Grimlock getting closer, and he could see the shadow vaguely now. Grimlock wasn;t in his alt form anymore, probably unable to fit in through the smaller doorways otherwise. Fulcrum wasn’t sure which one was worse. 

He didn’t have much time to think it over either, as a hand slammed into the door, denting it and the tips of scraped black digits curling around the edge before it was ripped completely away. Unable to do more than stare up at Grimlock, he opened his mouth to, well, say anything really, but never got the chance. One large hand grabbed him by the neck and pinned him to the wall, his pedes kicking over empty air as he clutched at the thick plating on Grimlock’s arm.

“Please, Grimlock, it’s me! Fulcrum! You’re not in any danger!”

A deep growl was all the answer he got, and those fingers tightened a little more. Grimlock leaned in, close enough that Fulcrum could feel the hot vented air from the sides of Grimlock’s mask. Close enough to see the bright circles of his optics past the glow of his visor, no sign of recognition in them. 

Grimlock’s fields were thick with rage, buzzing against his plating and suffocating his own field. He raised one fist and Fulcrum, in some sort of glitched kind of desperation, grabbed the sides of Grimlock’s helm and smashed his mouth to the curved metal of Grimlock’s facemask.

There was an instant of horrified shock before Fulcrum decided, frag it, if he was going to die, Grimlock could deal with his… whatever this was. A lunatic last stand? Sounded about right.

Nothing smashed into his head though, no explosion of pain, no limbs being forcibly removed, just Fulcrum, optics shuttered tight and mouth still pressed hard to Grimlock’s facemask. 

After a long, awkward moment, he very carefully peered through one optic to see the glow of Grimlock’s visor was dimmer. The rage in his EM field was less grating, slowly settling down. Not calm, not yet, but getting there.

Grimlock made a confused little growl, and Fulcrum felt it through the mask. Which he was still kissing. Right.

He slowly, warily pulled away, but Grimlock made no move to hurt him, and the hand around his neck released him when Fulcrum tugged at the fingers. He dropped to his pedes and, optics locked onto Grimlock, he slowly circled around the larger mech. Grimlock turned his head to watch him, one hand still raised slightly, his expression lost and confused. “Bomb? What… what happen?”

Fulcrum stepped out the door, making sure he had plenty of room to run if he needed to. “Apart from you going on a rampage after heard, uh… an unfortunate recording,” Grimlock growled again and he quickly continued, “apart from that, just you trying to kill the rest of us. You know, just the normal terrifying, oil-curdling experience.”

Grimlock turned, arms dropping to his sides. “Me, Grimlock… hurt Bomb?”

He sounded so lost. Hurt and sad. Fulcrum had to remind himself this was the same mech that nearly crushed his helm under a fist before he did something stupid, like offering him a hug. “Not really, and thank you for that. I do like my frame as injury-free as possible. Are you back? As in, no more flaming death? Please say you’re back.”

“Me Grimlock back. Not… not hurt Bomb.” Grimlock took a step and reached out, hunching in on himself when Fulcrum flinched away. “Not hurt.”

“Right, yes, no hurting the little mech. Okay. Good. Let’s… let’s get you back to the ship.” No matter if he was a threat, they couldn’t just leave him here. Though he made a big, glaring mental note to erase any sign of transmissions from Garrus 9 or Overlord that might be on the WAP’s logs.

And he was going to pretend everything between running into that supply closet and returning to the crew never happened.


	2. Chapter 2

“Now, now, no need for all this.” Fulcrum said with a nervous chuckle, arms held up in front of him as he tried to back away from the group of anti-factionalist Cybertronians he’d been cornered by. And really, of all the shady outpost trading ports, they had to find the only one with mechs that hated *both* sides? 

Maybe he’d been an awful sort of mech in a past life, it was the only way to explain his luck in this one. “Look, the war’s over! The badges are more like, um, a decoration now. Yeah, you know, more like a kind of nostalgia, nothing else! I’ve got tons of Autobot buddies!”

Oh, those were not the faces of fooled mechs, nope. They were, however, looking more and more unfriendly. The leader—or at least that’s who Fulcrum assumed he was—scoffed behind his scuffed mask. “Buncha lies! You sickos just want to spread your slaggin’ war all over the universe! Killin’ our planet wasn’t enough! Were are all these ‘Autobot friends’ right now, huh? If you’re gonna lie, at least make it somethin’ plausible.”

“It’s true! I swear! I mean, it’s not something I spread around much, I’m a private sort of mech, you see, but I’m, uh, dating one! Oh my, that is a large gun. A large gun I would love to see from perhaps a side angle? Hard to appreciate the workmanship while staring down the barrel.” Fulcrum babbled, apparently taking a cue from Misfire on what not to do in situations like this. Primus, he was getting *worse* at diplomacy. 

“I bet you would. Too bad. Surprised you made it this long considering you’ve got to be the worst liar. Really, with a symbol for the Decepticons, I expected better.” The rest of the group laughed, though it was a harsh kind of sound, unpleasant in the extreme. He felt the crackle of ozone and for once, kind of wished his payload hadn’t been removed. If these mechs were dumb enough to shoot a K-class, he should at least be able to take them out with him. 

He stuttered, waving his hands frantically as he tried to come up with a more convincing story when there was a deep, ominous growl from behind. The mech with the gun had just enough time for his optics to spiral wide with fear before a thick arm reached past Fulcrum, palmed the mech’s head and tossed him to the side. He hit the wall with a painful sounding crunch of metal and Fulcrum could only yelp as he was tugged bodily against a large, heavily armored frame, the rumble of Grimlock’s growl vibrating through him. 

“No one hurts Bomb.” Grimlock snarled, scooping Fulcrum up into his arms and glaring at the now-terrified mechs. “Go, before all of you look like stupid leader.”

They scattered, two of them dragging off their groaning leader, and Grimlock turned, Fulcrum still in his arms, and nuzzled the side of his helm with a smug sort of noise. “Bomb okay?” 

Fulcrum chuckled, still shaken but mostly relieved. “You, my dear Grimlock, have excellent timing. Though maybe a tiny bit earlier would have been nice.” Grimlock snorted and kept nuzzling, warm vents from the sides of his mask brushing over Fulcrum’s face as he rubbed their forhelms together. Fulcrum laughed and patted Grimlock’s facemask. “Great job, Grimlock, but they’re gone, you can drop the act. How long were you listening anyway?”

Grimlock gave him a look, one of those ones that Fulcrum wasn’t sure how he managed with a mask and visor but it came across loud and clear anyway. “What Bomb talking about? Me Grimlock see gun and save you.” He answered, heading in the direction of the W.A.P. with Fulcrum still cradled to his chassis. 

“But- then why… nevermind. Thank you, Grimloock. I appreciate the rescue.” Maybe it was nothing. Grimlock seemed to like him the best out of the crew for some reason. It didn’t have anything to do with a kiss Grimlock couldn’t possibly remember. Nope. Not at all.

Grimlock nuzzled his helm again, fields buzzing happily, and Fulcrum patted his chassis, smiling back as well as he could while he internally panicked. Oh frag.


End file.
